


Indefinitely

by Elysium (Elysium66)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Comedy, Complete, F/M, Romance, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 11:19:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2505872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elysium66/pseuds/Elysium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco wants to meet Hermione’s family, and she can’t quite fathom why that is</p>
            </blockquote>





	Indefinitely

“What do you mean your parents don’t really like me?” Draco’s voice held a hint of scandal and she could have sworn she detected a slight break in his inflection. “They haven’t even  _met_  me yet!”  
  
Hermione blew back the errant wisps of hair that fell across her eyes and tried to quell the look of amusement, which was starting to creep upon her features. She hadn’t really thought the topic of dinner with her parents would even  _come up_  when her relationship with the difficult blond began. Frankly, the thought of him sitting in her mother’s tiny kitchen and exchanging pleasantries about the roast beef she’d made for dinner was beyond absurd.  
  
And yet, it was precisely and unfathomably his suggestion.   
  
She scrunched up her nose delicately before responding. “Well … you see …” She paused to glance at him, not failing to note the mutinous expression on his pale features, combined with the crossed arms and haughty demeanour. “You know we got off to a—er …  _rocky_  start back at Hogwarts.” She coughed. “Perhaps the depiction of you they received was slightly … coloured.”  
  
“ _Coloured_ ,” he muttered, “I shouldn’t have put it past you to defame me in the innocence of my youth.” He looked for all the world the innocent he clearly believed himself to be.  
  
“Oh, enough, Draco. You were a rotten miscreant back then and you well know it. I see no reason to rehash old arguments … we’ve put it to rest, okay? But you can’t expect my parents to welcome you with open arms …”   
  
She softened her tone and moved closer to him in an effort to smooth his now ruffled feathers. At first she thought he might brush her off, but she felt the pressure of his palms against her hips and so relaxed into him.   
  
“Though how they could possibly have approved of  _Weasley_  is beyond me.” His voice trailed off but she could have sworn words such as _uncouth, rabid_  and  _moronic_  were muttered under his breath. She wisely kept her mouth closed for once. That moment was probably not the ideal opportunity to defend her friend and, the real sticking point for Draco, ex-boyfriend’s honour.   
  
She tilted her head upwards to place a swift kiss on the corner of his still-pouted mouth. “What’s brought all this on anyway? Dinner with the parents has never really been your thing.”  
  
She knew this because she was well versed in Draco Malfoy’s previous  _relationships_  – for lack of an infinitely more accurate term. In the years since the fall of Voldemort, she had formed a budding friendship with the prickly young Malfoy. Although it was something she never would have forecast—regardless of her poor divination skills—in her younger years, it seemed such a natural progression now.   
  
The animosity with which they had all grown up had taken some time to dissipate, but as the world changed and became more tolerant, so did its inhabitants. And she had never quite forgotten his refusal to confirm their identities on that horrible night at his family home. It had shown her that regardless of the ugly mark which had marred his otherwise milky skin, he wasn’t the crude and ruthless individual it suggested. It had meant something to a lot of people.  
  
And the general keenness to put the woes of war and loss behind them all meant that bad history was mostly thrown under the rug and a new era of clean slates had begun. The air around them was clean and fresh now; it no longer suffered the cloying smell of fear and sweat which had lingered for so long.  
  
It had actually been Harry to extend the hand of friendship to Draco, and though it had surprised her and many others, she had felt an enormous sense of pride in her friend. He had borne much in his short life, and yet his maturity and unwillingness to hold grudges never ceased to amaze her.   
  
The same could not be said for Ron, but the animosity between him and Draco had been more acutely personal in nature.  
  
In any case, the proffered olive branch had been accepted—Draco Malfoy was nothing if not an opportunist—and as a result he had been an increasing presence in her life ever since. The friendship they had developed had shocked many, herself included, and probably most of all  _his_ family. She suspected she would never be invited to dine with them, but that was fine by Hermione. Chatting over the  _hors d’oeuvres_  with Lucius Malfoy was not on her list of things to experience.   
  
But in the few years that she had really begun to know Draco, she was constantly surprised by his ability to stimulate her intellectually and infuriate her beyond measure. He was without doubt the most single minded and stubborn individual she had ever come across. Of course, he would probably say the same thing about her, so it was little wonder they ever managed to communicate in the first place.  
  
They had though, somehow. And she had found herself looking forward to seeing him more than she knew she ought. She had also found his disingenuous treatment of women totally appalling. Hermione had realised eventually that the two issues were intrinsically linked.   
  
She had fallen for him, much to her own great shock, because when she reflected upon his qualities at the time she really had been unable to draw a distinct conclusion as to  _how_  this had happened. He wasn’t bumbling or endearing the way Ron was. He wasn’t sweet and gentle and polite the way Viktor had been. In fact, he was positively rude at times—“Really, Granger have you  _seen_  yourself this morning?” He was prone to mood swings, starting arguments and was also entirely too hard to read.  
  
But he was magnetic.   
  
That, she supposed, was the crux of the whole thing. As much as her logic told her a relationship with such a man was impossible, the wretched thudding of her heartbeat suggested it might just be worth the trauma. It was, shockingly.   
  
The day he had first asked her out—in his own round about way, for Draco Malfoy rarely asked for anything—she had been completely thrown. Thrilled, but thrown nonetheless.   
  
 _“You broke up with her? How shocking … what was the problem this time, a hook nose?”_  
  
“I lost interest in Janelle, what does it matter anyhow?”  
  
“Draco … her name was Jenny.”  
  
“Right you are. Why is that by the way?”  
  
“Why is what?”  
  
“Why is it that you remember their names better than I do?”  
  
“Aside from your incessant need to regale me with every detail of your love life, you mean? It’s a funny thing called human decency. Try it some time, eh?”  
  
“I did once before. It clashed horribly with my reputation. And in any case, I’m interested in someone else. I have been for a while.”  
  
“Isn’t that always the way with you? Let me guess … Regina?”  
  
“Who the bloody hell is Regina?”  
  
“Elsie, you know Neville’s girlfriend, well Regina is her cousin. You flirted outrageously with her at the mixer for my department.”  
  
“…”  
  
“Absolutely hideous laugh she has ... like a rapid fire shotgun … it just goes on and on and—”  
  
“Jealousy becomes you so nicely, Granger. Whatever would your band of merry men say if they saw this side of you?”  
  
“I’m not bloody jealous!”  
  
“Of course you are, but that’s fine by me … it soothes my ego immensely.”  
  
“Ugh.”  
  
“Incidentally, I was referring to you.”  
  
“Er, what?”  
  
“I want you, Granger.”  
  
But irrespective of the treacherous hum which had tingled through her quite indecently at the words delivered in a low and husky voice, which was cultivated quite deliberately to make her knees wobble, Hermione Granger valued her pride. She laughed him off and told him to stop confusing friendship for attraction.  
  
The look of confusion upon his face had been both satisfying and utterly insulting. That he thought she would just concede to his whim was appalling, and she would have thought he’d known her better than that. Besides, there had been another reason for her brushing him off. Hermione couldn’t deny that though she had thought—in great detail actually—of what it would be like to be with him in the biblical sense, she truly didn’t think she would know how to handle the situation. She wasn’t experienced the way he was. She knew relationships and lovemaking to be sweet and gentle. Comfortable. And there was nothing about Draco Malfoy that was comfortable.   
  
Although she managed to put up a front of complete self assurance, this was one of the few things about which she was not entirely confident. Men didn’t fall at her feet or put up alters for her beauty, so she had no reason to think that Draco was suddenly bowled over with lust. That sort of thing didn’t happen in real life, or at least it didn’t happen with her.   
  
He hadn’t mentioned anything about it to her for a full week and she had started to think that he had lost interest already. That wouldn’t have been entirely unusual given his dating history. She’d told herself it was a good thing she didn’t take him up on his vague offer. It wouldn’t be worth confusing their friendship and hurting herself for something which was nothing more than whim.   
  
She had done her best to behave as normal as possible around him after that because he had seemed to have forgotten and she wouldn’t put herself out to be embarrassed.   
  
The topic didn’t arise again for at least a week, when she was visiting his library—one of the main benefits she found in their friendship.   
  
He had been leaning against one of the sturdy book cases, observing her quite intently. She was flushing because of the weight of his stare, but no doubt he put it down to her being excited at such close a proximity to books. Well … perhaps there was a little of that too.  
  
 _“It’s little wonder you haven’t got a boyfriend, Granger. In fact, it amazes me that you and Weasley even managed to get something going in the first place …”_  
  
“Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms! Oh, I’ve been looking for this one for years! I … what?”  
  
“Bloody hell, Granger, stop looking at the books … I was talking about—”  
  
“I heard what you said, and I don’t know what you mean by it. I’ll have you know Terry Boot asked me out to dinner just yesterday. I’ve a mind to say yes, now that I think about it …”  
  
“Terry Boot couldn’t find his way around a woman if he was given a map. And you’re not remotely interested in him anyway.”  
  
“You have no idea who I’m interested in.”  
  
He had grinned then, as though delighted by such an opportunity to demonstrate the inaccuracy of her statement. She had fumbled around with the book in her hands, attempting to slot it safely back into position before she could flee the slightly predatory male coming toward her. He had retrieved it from her fingers and flung it on the floor, much to her horror. He’d silenced her mutterings by brushing deft hands across her hips and around her back. And when he traced her mouth with his own, she had quite forgotten why it was that she was so against it. __  
  
“Um …”  
  
“Yes, Granger, that’s what I thought you might say.”  
  
“Hmmph. Just because you’ve kissed me once … without permission, by the way … doesn’t mean I won’t still go on that date with Terry.”  
  
“You’re quite right … I’ll have to think of other means to deter you.”  
  
He had, in fact. The Slytherin in him was quite a master manipulator. But truthfully speaking, she had been quite amenable at that point. The press of his firm fingers against her and the dizzying taste of him on her tongue was quite enough to have her convinced.   
  
She slept with him that night, throwing out all her would-be morals and ideas of how to conduct herself. And she was pretty certain that she had broken some expert’s rule on how to  _secure_  a man. Jane Austen would be horrified. But then, she didn’t think Draco Malfoy could be secured anyway. She had decided, in the pragmatic way she had, that she would try to salvage her dignity and their friendship as best she could. She knew him well enough to know he didn’t want a lasting relationship, and that their friendship was not like any other he had. So she kissed him on the cheek before she left and reminded him about the gathering she was having at her little cottage house in the days to come.  
  
She hadn’t seen his expression when she left, but it was quite floored.   
  
She had spent that night thinking about how he had felt, about how he had made  _her_  feel. It was like nothing she had ever imagined. Though she wanted nothing more than to do that again, to hear him whisper soft things to her, she knew that it was something he would never do and that fantasising about such things would come to nothing.  
  
Hermione had grown up to value her friendships above all else, so that was exactly what she was going to do … even if it killed her.   
  
As it happened he  _did_  come to her party a few days later, and she greeted him like the good friend he was. And apart from a quick sniff of his neck, which would have been horribly embarrassing if he’d caught her, she had behaved the part quite flawlessly.  
  
However, he did manage to corner her before the end of the night, much to her dismay, because she had found it easier to avoid him than act normal.   
  
 _“What in the name of Merlin are you playing at?”_  
  
“Uh … what?”  
  
“You’re acting like a crazy person, Granger. You had Wood cornered for nearly 20 minutes discussing his preference for knee highs over ankle socks! I’ve never seen anyone try to flee a party so fast in my life.”  
  
“That’s not true, and I—”   
  
“I wouldn’t have had you pegged for the love them and leave them kind of girl, Granger. And now you’re avoiding me?”  
  
“I’m not! I’ll have you know—”  
  
“And you were spending an awfully long time talking to Boot. What about? Still going on that date with him after all, eh? And I’m the one with the reputation?!”  
  
“For goodness sake, Draco, shut up and let me speak!”  
  
“Don’t tell—  
  
“I left because I thought that’s what you wanted! I don’t have experience with all this stuff the way you do … I don’t know how it works, okay? And I don’t want it messing things up …”  
  
“You thought I wanted you to leave right after we shagged on my library floor; am I to understand that?”  
  
“Well, when you put it that—”  
  
“So let me get this straight, you thought this was just a one time thing … so you could alleviate your urges with the closest available person—me—and then leave it at that?”  
  
“No! That’s not—”  
  
“Well, too bad. When I told you I wanted you, I didn’t just mean once. I meant … indefinitely …”  
  
“Er … indefinitely?”  
  
“Right.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
Although they were both naturally articulate people, they never seemed quite able to vocalise their feelings for one another in any way other than the most convoluted. If it had been Ron, she might have killed him for it already, but there was something about Draco which made her always uncertain about what he meant. He wasn’t an open book and she always wondered whether she took the things he said to mean more than they actually did. He seemed to be equally uncertain of her, which she rather liked because he was rarely uncertain about anything.   
  
When he finally told her he loved her, in no uncertain terms, she’d been so shocked to hear the words fall from his lips that she hadn’t quite responded as the importance of the moment dictated she should. They had been in bed, caught in a tangle of limbs and sheets, the smell of him clouding her senses. In fact, she rather though  _that_  was the blame for her verbal incapability at the time. The words, said so simply, were muffled into her hair and had rather taken her breath away.   
  
 _“I love you.”_  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“You heard me, Granger.”  
  
“…”  
  
“Hermione …”  
  
  
“Uh … yes, I … also … you.”  
  
“…”  
  
“Draco?”  
  
“You’ve got to be kidding me. You also me?”  
  
“No! I … uh, I love you. I love you.”  
  
“You’re hopeless, but I find it oddly endearing.”  
  
It was little wonder, given the constant back and forth between them, that she was so surprised by his request one year into their relationship to meet her parents. She tended to forget that their relationship wasn’t like all the previous ones he’d had. He’d never told a girl he loved her before. In fact, he’d never been with a girl long enough to do so before.  
  
But Hermione was constantly comparing their relationship to all his previous ones. Perhaps that was part of the problem. She always worried that one day he would suddenly decide that he  _didn’t_  love her, that he could live without her. It scared her because she knew she couldn’t live without him, deviant reprobate though he was.   
  
Of course, in theory she could think of nothing better than introducing the man she loved to her family. She was just extremely concerned about how the whole affair would go, and of course entirely perplexed by his request.   
  
She lifted her head from its resting place against the breadth of his chest, and glanced up at him. Her fingers danced in little swirling motions across the fabric there; it was an act intended to distract him. Draco was ultimately a physical creature, and he could be swayed thus to spill certain secrets he kept well concealed. She nudged him backwards toward a sofa and was unsurprised by his compliancy.   
  
Hermione settled onto his lap then, enjoying the heat of his thighs beneath her. She could tell he enjoyed it too because although he was plainly unsure of what had motivated her enthusiastic behaviour, he felt no need to question it. She pressed her hands against his chest and brushed moist kisses across the line of his jaw.   
  
“Draco,” she whispered, to which he replied with an indecipherable mumble. She wriggled just so above him, enjoying the feel of him beneath her. “Why is it that you want to meet my parents?”  
  
He stopped still for a moment and opened his eyes to look at her, clearly now apprised of her intentions. That was okay; she could up the stakes. Her hand moved to brush beneath the fabric of his shirt, tracing shapes lower down his abdomen to brush the uppermost part of his pants.  
  
“Not fair,” he muttered to her. She laughed a little, before moving her fingers to brush across the zip of his pants. “Can’t we put it down to being respectable …” he whispered.   
  
“Respectable? Since when has that been a concern?” She continued to press kisses down the line of his neck, enjoying the flickering of his pulse beneath her tongue.   
  
“Your incessant questions really will be the death of me.” His chest contracted before he continued, “I need to ask your father something.”  
  
Her head bobbed up to meet his gaze. “My  _father?_  What on earth can you have to ask him about?”  
  
His gaze was steady and very intent, but his mouth was firmly closed. A thought suddenly occurred to her, and she pulled back to take in his whole expression. Her eyes traced every flicker of movement.  
  
“You’re not … you don’t mean?”  
  
“Thank Merlin, you were so explicit there, Hermione. Otherwise I might have had no idea what you were talking about.” Sarcasm was an easy fall back for Draco, but it wouldn’t quell her suspicion. In fact, she was too busy fighting the rising indignation to think about the bubble of excitement skittering in the pit of her stomach.  
  
“You’re not … planning to ask him what I think you are. Are you?” She held her breath until the dizzying lack of oxygen caused her to brace her hand more firmly on his shoulder.   
  
“And if I am?” His expression was stubborn.  
  
“Then you’re a bloody Neanderthal! Marriage is a serious thing and I don’t appreciate being treated like some cow and a bag of rice ready to be bartered!” She huffed at the indignity of it all.  
  
“You really think I’d take you on for just  _one_  bag of rice? Really, what do you think I am—a pushover?   
  
“Draco!” She exclaimed, fighting the temptation to hit him.   
  
“So, you don’t want to marry me then?” His jaw was clenched, and the tension in his shoulders gave her pause.  
  
She replied softly. “Of course, I want to marry you.”  
  
“Then what’s the problem!” He exclaimed, clearly frustrated. Men could be so dense sometimes.  
  
“You bloody git! The problem is that you  _didn’t ask me!_  If you want to marry my dad then by all means, go ask him. But no man marries me without my own bloody permission and no one else’s.” She pushed her shoulders back, chin tilted defiantly in the air. She would have been haughtiness personified were she not still sitting astride his lap.  
  
Clearly appeased, his tone took on a playful quality. “Now, now, Granger—play nicely. I was just being … romantic.” He kissed the corner of her mouth, before tracing a line to that secret spot behind her ear that never failed to turn her to jelly. Damn him.

  
“No,” she mumbled. “You were being archaic. There’s a difference.”   
  
“I see.” He moved one broad palm to brace her hip, the other moving in a whisper of a touch across the bottom hem of her skirt. It was entirely distracting. Perhaps that was his intention. She squirmed a little when it pressed firmly upon her thigh, gliding upward beneath the fabric in a way that made her hold her breath. “I’ll try again, shall I?”  
  
“Mmhmm.”  
  
Her hips wriggled treacherously when his thumb brushed the fabric of her underwear, seeking entrance beneath its snug fit.   
  
“Will you marry me, Hermione?” His voice was liquid heat, which caused the blood to sing in her veins.   
  
She seized him enthusiastically then, arms wrapped around his neck and lips pressing quick kisses to his mouth, a thousand yeses voiced between each one. His thumb brushed beneath the seam of her underwear, and she found herself distracted in an entirely different way.  
  
Now  _that_ , she decided, was a proposal she could live with.


End file.
